


Top Percentage

by orphan_account



Category: Doraemon (Manga)
Genre: Fluff and Angst, Lipstick Kisses, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-09
Updated: 2015-03-09
Packaged: 2018-03-17 03:04:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,312
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3512867
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Gian stumbled over a secret of Suneo's, he never thought a tube of lipstick would lead him into trouble; or that a moment of daring could get him out of it. Adult!Gian/Suneo.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Top Percentage

**Author's Note:**

> All of my Doraemon fics are spawned through conversations between my best friend and me. This is no exception. We may or may not have considered the possibility of Suneo wearing his mother's makeup. Therefore, my mind went to the thought of Gian/Suneo smooches involving lipstick. Only I had to add a dash of angst to ease my guilty conscience.

"Hey, Suneo? How long are you gonna spend in front of the mirror this time?"

Gian asked the question without a trace of humor or teasing. He locked his arms over his front and stared down his nose at Suneo. His eyebrows scrunched low over his eyes to swathe them in a grouchy shadow.

"Nobita practically drove off without us last time you got hung up preening," Gian said. He snorted in disgust. "You look fine. What's there to fix? Ain't like you're yer momma, needing to do three hours worth of makeup repairs every ten minutes."

"Don't talk about Mama," Suneo said, but the response was automatic and distracted. He leaned forward into the mirror to survey his upswept pile of peaked bangs. He squinted at his reflection.

"I'm not . . . getting gray hair, am I?"

Gian choked on the laugh that piled in his throat. "Gray? What's yer problem? Is Suneki giving you a hard time? Or is that Nobisuke still tormenting you about getting married?" He guffawed at Suneo's pleading groan.

"Come on, Gian, stop making fun and tell me."

Gian pressed his fist against the underside of his chin in a dramatic facade of contemplation. He studied Suneo.

"Y'know, now that you mention it . . . you are getting a few stray whites, if you know what I mean."

Suneo hesitated, then smoothed the side of his finger over his mountain of bangs. They ruffled back into place, just as soft and dark as ever. Suneo's beseeching gaze melted Gian from the mirror. Gian relented.

"Aw, Suneo," he said, feeling ridiculous. "I was just fooling. You have about as much white as a jungle panther."

Suneo's eyes brightened, just enough for hopeful sparkles to filter through the miserable clouds. "Really? Are you sure?"

Gian resisted the urge to sigh. As if talking to a kindergartner, he said, "Yes, Suneo. I'm sure."

Suneo returned his attention to the mirror and adjusted his jacket lapels. With painstaking consideration to detail, he rubbed a few nonexistent wrinkles from the front of his shirt. Gian rolled his eyes.

"Su-ne-o." Gian whacked his fingertip against the face of his watch. "We need to go already. I swear, you're just like a fourteen-year-old girl on prom night. Shizuka primps less than you do."

"Shizuka," Suneo said, "doesn't worry about how she looks anymore. Why else would she wear jeans in public?" As if he hadn't just delivered such a rude remark, Suneo turned to the side and stared over his shoulder at his reflection. He raised his shoulder a bit and tilted his head until his bangs riffled over his forehead. In a slinky way that reminded Gian of a weasel, Suneo slid his hands down his sides to flatten the wrinkles from his shirt.

"Do you think my blue tie would look better with this? Or is this black one all right?"

"Lord help me," Gian muttered under his breath. Louder, he said, "Black one."

Suneo began to pick at his cufflinks, adjusting them. Light bounced off the silver knobs in slivers. Once he twisted one to his liking, he whisked a few creases from his sleeve and switched to the other arm.

Gian expelled a long, burdened sigh like a blast of air from bellows. He sagged against the wall. When his shoulder struck it, pictures rattled. Suneo cast him a withering glance.

"May as well park here and stay a while," Gian said. He slung his arms over his chest and crossed his ankles. One foot began to cramp, jammed inside his stiff loafers. Gian toed off the shoe and kicked it aside.

"What'cha gotta do now?"

Suneo missed the snide trace of sarcasm and resumed his titivating. "I'm almost done, Gian. Can't you hang onto an ounce of patience? The world doesn't operate on Gian Standard Time. Just give me a minute. I need my gloves."

Gian watched Suneo sift through the drawer of the antique vanity. Various tubes and bottles clinked together and rattled. Suneo skimmed his hand through the back of the drawer, bumped past some little glass jars, and withdrew a pair of white silk gloves.

Gian observed this procedure with interest. A sly grin quirked up one half of his mouth and squashed into his cheeks.

"Guess it's a good thing you outgrew most of that primpy stuff, ain't that right?"

Suneo shut the drawer with a bang. The sundry assortment of things inside jangled.

"What's that supposed to mean?" He scowled at Gian before tugging on his gloves.

"Don't tell me you forgot." Gian leaned back his head. "What about when you were little and pulled them stunts like coming to school wearing yer momma's jewelry or makeup? When was that . . . fifth grade? Sixth? "

Suneo started. His hand flew to his face, curling against his cheek. He caught himself an instant later and tightened his shoulders with a jerk.

"It wasn't makeup," he muttered. He looked at the ceiling with such fake interest it was as though it were that of the Sistine Chapel.

"It wasn't makeup?" Gian lifted his hand to tick off a list on his fingers. "Lemme see: lip gloss, eyeshadow, that dadburned tar that goes on yer eyelashes . . . musker?"

Suneo choked. "Mascara!"

"See?" Gian nodded in smug satisfaction and plugged his hands back into his pockets. "But sure is a good thing you grew outta that. Would be a terror for you to waste time on preening like a peacock, now, wouldn't it?"

Suneo twisted his fingers together, refusing to acknowledge Gian. His gaze flicked from the floor to the vanity and back.

Without ado, Gian plunged forward, hunched over like a football player diving for a touchdown. Before Suneo could yelp and grab at his arm to haul him back, Gian bent over the vanity. He fumbled for the tiny brass knob and yanked the drawer open. He vastly overestimated the difficulty in pulling it open, and found himself staring at the drawer that hung crookedly out of its slot like a lolling tongue.

Bottles rolled to the bottom of the drawer, clanking and clacking along with little tubes and jars. Noisy as a hailstorm, everything rained out, slamming and cracking against the floor. Tubes of lipstick clattered. Cakes of eyeshadow exploded. Cans of creams and lotions banged and skittered. Gian stared.

Suneo stood frozen, motionless as a tree in the dead stillness of winter. His fists clenched at his sides. All the color faded from his face, leaving him as pale and shaky as if he had just seen a shrouded phantom.

Gian surveyed the damage. He had never seen a stick of lipstick squash against a floor. Chunks of lipstick squished in crumbs and ridges from the impact. Any other time, Gian would have laughed. But now, the mask of terror on Suneo's face kept him from finding the humor in it.

"I . . . I guess you didn't outgrow it, did you?" Gian scrubbed the back of his neck and laughed, just to bounce some of that stifling tension from his lungs. Suneo said nothing. Gian snapped his teeth shut around the laugh and swallowed it.

"I, uh, didn't mean to make a mess." He glanced at Suneo, then back at the makeup massacre. He realized, then wrenched back around to squint at Suneo again. He stiffened, and his fingers went lax around the drawer handle. Suneo's eyes were pools of misery and anger, and glittered with humiliation.

"That wasn't mine."

Gian pulled his gaze back to the cosmetic carnage to reassure himself that it really was tangible makeup and not some sort of mirage he had conjured. "You mean to tell me all that junk's in yer drawer and it ain't yers?"

"It was––" Suneo's voice cracked, and he squeezed his eyes shut. He folded his arms over his front as if to shield himself, and squeezed his hands over his elbows.

The realization piled into Gian's gut like a bulldozer. He scuffed back a step, holding out his arms for balance. "Don't tell me that stuff was from . . . " He gulped. "From yer momma."

As if hearing it aloud made it reality, Suneo drew his hands up his arms to dig his fingers into his shoulders. He nodded in one tight little jerk. With his eyes still screwed shut, he said, "Mama gave me that. All of it. To just keep. After she . . . ." He swallowed to clear the clogged-up thickness in his voice. He shook his head in frustration. "That and some jewelry. It's all I have."

Gian was convinced that the scum scraped off the side of a fishtank had more dignity than he. His arm lowered to dangle at his side. The corner of the drawer scratched against the floor.

"Suneo, I––I didn't know that. I just thought, y'know how you are, I just––" He flung up his hands in defeat and nearly scoured a picture off the wall with the swinging drawer. "I didn't know they was heirlooms, Suneo!"

"Well, now you know!" Suneo knotted his fists and leaned forward, as intense as a child throwing a tantrum. "What are you going to do next? Get her necklaces and dump them down the garbage disposal? Throw her earrings in the goldfish pond? Do you purposely try to find something to ruin just to hurt people? Just so you can have an excuse to make fun?"

The accusation grated on Gian. A retort boiled up his throat and scalded his tongue and rocketed out before he could clamp his teeth around it: "What's wrong with you? God knows it was an accident, you whiny little––" He gestured like a windmill, arms flailing. "You're a brat, you know that? A brat! I didn't mean to spill yer momma's precious little makeups everywhere. What kinda man in his right mind would wanna hang onto some five year old lipstick, anyhow? It don't matter if it's mommy's or not!"

The shout made the lights overhead flicker. Suneo recoiled as if he had been slapped. He cowed backwards, his shoulders inching up in a defensive shrug.

Gian heaved for breath. His forehead pounded as though it were under a jackhammer. Spots flared in front of his eyes, blurring the image of Suneo cowering. Gian panted, glaring at Suneo, gritting his teeth until his jaw ached.

Suneo somehow looked smaller than ever, a sliver of rage and hurt wrapped in an expensive suit. But when he raised his head, his eyes shiny and wet, Gian knew. A chill shivered through his scalp to stir his hair and rippled down to his heels. The fury of Suneo's temper was like a cyclone swirled into a splinter of a man, and may as well have made him ten feet tall.

"There is nothing wrong with me." Suneo's voice quivered above a whisper and scratched like sandpaper. He pressed his fists against his thighs, his knuckles pasty. "There's _nothing_ wrong with me."

Each sharp breath rocked his shoulders. His cheeks darkened under a splotchy blush. "What's wrong with missing your mother? What's wrong with cherishing her things she left behind? What's wrong with being upset that a clumsy stupid oaf made a mess of the things she left to me? And insulting me about it to boot! Wrong, Gian? What's _wrong_ with me? What's wrong with you?"

"Suneo, I didn't––" Gian held up his hands in a placating gesture, waving as if to ward off Suneo. He eased back a few steps. "Calm down, okay? Suneo. Suneo! You're gonna-"

Suneo crouched. His poisonous, white-hot stare never faltered. Without looking away, he skimmed his hand over the floor until it knocked against a tube of lipstick. His fingers curled over it and closed it into his hand.

He stood, so slowly that his back creaked. His glare didn't waver. He twisted off the plastic cap of the lipstick with a click. In the silence, it sounded like a dynamite explosion blasting into a rocky hillside. Suneo let the cap clatter to the floor. It rolled in a lopsided circle around his feet before bumping to a halt. With a hand as steady as a clockmaker's, Suneo raised the lipstick to his mouth. He hesitated for but an instant before pressing the angled tip against his lips.

Gian reared back as though dodging a swinging fist. His jaw unhinged until his chin touched the upturned collar of his coat. All the fear that had been thrumming through his veins collectively buzzed in a shock and crackled through his nerves.

Suneo rolled the lipstick over his lips in one slow, smooth swipe. A waxy coat of red flowed behind the blunt tip. Suneo's mouth opened a bit, as if half-shut around a breathy moan. He twisted his wrist in a way that was eerily precise, and scraped the stick over his mouth to paint a cupid's-bow to suit a china doll.

He flexed his fingers around the plastic tube. His hand lowered. Without a word, he unfurled his fingers, flattening them stiff as an ironing board. The tube dropped to crack against the floor. A skid mark of red slashed over the tile.

Gian watched the tube roll. Icy sweat prickled his back under his coat. When he breathed, the air clawed in his throat. He tried to swallow back the sensation of gargling a handful of needles.

"Suneo, I . . . " The words felt like steel wool scrubbing in his windpipe. His eyes watered. He coughed a couple of times to clear his voice and said, hoping to sound like a reasonable adult, "You don't have to act like this, Suneo. I didn't mean to do anything. I get yer point, just wipe that mess off yer face and get ready to go. I'm sure Nobita's waiting on us and . . . . "

Before the words managed to fall, Suneo surged forward. He stood square in front of Gian, trembling with suppressed rage. He drew his arm back, as if to control himself, but all restraint crumbled within seconds. He jabbed his finger in Gian's face.

"You are not going to tell me what to do," Suneo said through gritted teeth. "You are not going to stay in my house and ruin my things and talk to me like I'm a little pet waiting for an order. Is that what gets you out of bed in the morning? Wanting to act like some kind of big honcho and bossing people around? You might do that to everyone else, and you might have done it to me when we were kids, but I am not taking it. I am not taking orders from you, Gian."

Gian felt as though lava and brimstone were piling in him, swelling upwards. Heat poured through his limbs and exploded in his chest like fireworks. His blood frothed and boiled, shooting through his veins as hot as bullets. In one move, he swept out his arm to grab Suneo's wrist. His fingers squeezed like a vise, every bit as unrelenting. Suneo yelped when the bones squelched together under the pressure. Gian yanked Suneo's arm up, jerking him onto his tiptoes. Suneo teetered for balance. As if only then realizing the consequences of his temper, Suneo dangled from Gian's grasp, staring up at him in fear.

"Don't. You. Dare." A ragged breath punctuated Gian's every word. He hauled Suneo up higher until he balanced on the cake of rubber on the toes of his oxfords. Gian felt his face contorting, but all the anger came rushing back in a numbing flood. "Don't you dare get in my face like that. You rant and rave and you expect me to sit here and take it? How stupid do you think I am, Suneo?"

Suneo twisted his wrist in Gian's fist in a weak attempt at loosening his grip. When Gian only crushed his arm tighter, Suneo ducked his head with a hiss. Gian dragged him closer with a curt yank, and Suneo beat his free arm through the air to steady himself. He lost his balance, and stumbled against Gian. In spite of himself, Gian threw his arm around Suneo's waist to catch him, clutching him close to hold him upright. Suneo curled his fingers into Gian's sleeve, and lowered his head until his forehead pushed against Gian's chest. They stood there in silence for an endless, suffocating minute.

Suneo's shoulders began to shake. Gian stared over the top of his head, feeling the erratic puffs of Suneo's hot breath against his shoulder. Was Suneo _crying?_ Just as quickly as it had come, Gian's anger subsided, melting away like spring snow. Gian felt weak and shaky as if he had just dragged over the finish line of a marathon. His fingers relaxed around Suneo's wrist. He drew his strong hand down Suneo's arm, squeezing gently, and hooked his arm around Suneo's middle to press him closer. He bent forward, burying his face in Suneo's hair.

"Don't do this," he said, his voice catching. He cringed, and said, "Suneo, don't. Don't cry." He rubbed Suneo's back, pushing him closer. "I'll fix it somehow. I'll clean it all up and mop the floor and––"

Suneo dug his fingers into Gian's elbows. "What's wrong with me, Gian?" His voice was a sludgy whisper that hinged on little choked breaths. "Why am I like this over silly things that don't even matter? Mama wouldn't have cared. It's only makeup . . . it's only makeup! So why does it hurt so bad?"

Gian's heart seized. On impulse, he crushed Suneo against him, almost in desperation. He cupped his hand over the back of Suneo's neck and pressed his head against his shoulder. Gian shushed Suneo in the same demanding yet soothing way he would shush his blubbering son.

"I know I made fun. I know I said it, but there's nothing wrong with you," Gian muttered into Suneo's hair. "That stuff; it was yer momma's, and it don't matter what it is, it meant a lot, and I know I would'a' gone ballistic if somebody messed with something of Ma's, even if it was makeup or something froufrou that I didn't care a lick for all." Gian flinched. He knew he was rambling, but the dam clamming up his words was broken. He had to talk, to keep that silence from falling again, to keep from hearing Suneo's choked, snotty whimpers.

"I'm sorry," Suneo said, his voice muffled in Gian's coat. "I didn't know that something so silly would make me so mad. It wasn't totally your fault. I should have told you before. I just didn't want to hear any of your stupid jokes about anything." Suneo heaved a long, forlorn sigh.

"Aw, Suneo. Don't talk like that. You're gonna make me feel bad." Gian smiled in hopes that Suneo would scoff, but Suneo only lowered his head further. Gian's smile faded. Reluctantly, he eased his arms from around Suneo. Somehow he missed the solid warmth of Suneo's body in his arms, but ignored the vague sense of loss.

He curled his hands around Suneo's head and tipped it back until he could see Suneo's eyes. They were murky puddles that caught the specks of light from the chandelier and shone. Gian's gaze lowered and settled on Suneo's mouth, tracing the velvet-red outline of the lipstick.

"Don't worry about being mad," he said, subdued. He slid his thumbs over Suneo's temples to push them into his hair. It was stiff and prickly. Gian rubbed his thumbs into the hair absentmindedly, his eyes blurring.

"I guess . . . I guess I shouldn't have been messing around with your stuff. Ain't no right of yours to go yelling-mad, but I guess I should be more careful. 'Specially around certain subjects."

Suneo flinched. "Well, see that you do."

The conversation hung awkwardly as trench coats on a clothesline. Gian shuffled his feet. Suneo looked askance, although it was difficult with Gian's hands flattened like blinders against his cheeks.

"That, um . . . that lipstick kind of suits you," Gian said. He glanced at Suneo, then at the ceiling. He cleared his throat with a _harrumph_. "I mean, don't take it the wrong way or anything, but it doesn't look out of place."

Suneo ducked his head. He jabbed his thumb against his mouth, swiped his tongue over it, and smoothed it over his lips to wipe away the rich red. He had little success.

"It won't happen again any time soon, if that's what you're hoping," Suneo said, jerking his head to the side to dislodge Gian's hands. He scowled. "I've had enough of this. Let's just hurry and go, like you've been rushing me to do so far. I'm sure Nobita's waiting, and he's probably not too happy."

"Just a minute," Gian said. "We've waited this long; a little bit more won't matter." He caught Suneo's sleeve and dragged him forward, disregarding Suneo's protests. Suneo pressed his fists against Gian's chest to shove him back, but Gian only folded his arms around his waist and lifted him into a hug. With a muffled yelp, Suneo dug his fingers like claws into Gian's shoulders.

As though he were in a timed race to finish, Gian scraped his arm up Suneo's back to hook it around his neck. Bracing him, Gian tipped him back until his heels hit the floor. Suneo didn't have time to lean away before Gian bent over, cupped the back of his neck, and shoved him closer. Their mouths and noses squashed together, and Gian felt Suneo go rigid when he stopped breathing.

Gian pressed Suneo's face against his for as long as he could hold his breath. Suneo's lips were sticky; when Gian moved his mouth to smear the lipstick, it made an interesting smacking sound. An odd flavor rippled through his mouth, pale and barely distinguishable. It tasted of wax, but had teasing, sweet undertones of fruit that somehow overpowered everything else.

 _Cherry,_ Gian thought. His eyelids sank shut. With his hand still clutching the back of Suneo's head, his fingers digging into his hair, he rubbed Suneo's face against his. Suneo gave a drained, defeated "mphff," and sagged limp in Gian's arms. Had Gian not been supporting him, Suneo's knees would have buckled, leaving him to crumple on the floor.

Gian lingered a bit longer, pressing his tongue against the roof of his mouth to hold the flavor of cherry in place. He breathed in long, deep huffs as if asleep. The scent of Suneo's cologne funneled into his chest to tighten his throat. The smoky bite of cinnamon and the warm summery tang of oranges mingled in his nose. He sighed. Slowly, he tightened his fingers in Suneo's hair, and tugged his head back. Their lips parted with the quietest of smacks.

Suneo stared at Gian through foggy eyes, looking as though he had just rolled out of bed after a grueling night of paperwork. His hair tufted in all possible directions and some impossible; ruffled in a few places and smashed flat in others. His cheeks were red and blotchy, only partly from anger. Suneo swallowed. He passed his tongue over his lips to lick away the smudged lipstick.

"Was that supposed to be an apology?" His voice was nearly an octave lower than usual, scratchy and husky. His eyebrows lowered, making him look suddenly threatening. "Because if it was, you didn't do a very good job."

Gian laughed in a couple of little puffs. He smoothed his hands up Suneo's arms to squeeze his shoulders. "Y'know, I thought it was pretty okay. Never thought I'd say this, but lipstick? It's better than it looks."

"Ugh!" With a shudder of disgust, Suneo whipped his head to the side and refused to look at Gian. "I mean it. I've had enough. I think it's time to go, don't you think?" He edged toward the door. Gian's hands uncurled from around his arms. "Yes, I'm sure Nobita's absolutely frantic. He'll never stop raving if we don't hurry."

Gian arched his tongue to smash a laugh back down into his throat at Suneo's abrupt change of attitude. In spite of having earlier been consumed with his appearance, Suneo now didn't bother to make another pit stop in front of the mirror. He darted to the door, tore his jacket from the coat-rack, and shrugged into it. He didn't even swat away the wrinkles.

Gian debated on whether to tell Suneo that he might have wanted to smooth his hair, or perhaps straighten his lapels and tighten his tie.

"What are you lagging around for?" Suneo snapped. He snatched his keys from the shelf and stuffed them into his pocket. "Let's go."

"Okay, okay." Gian grinned and popped his hands into his pockets, sauntering after Suneo. For some reason, flustering Suneo brought him immense satisfaction. Perhaps it was because precious few people could make the tycoon lose his composure; Gian never could resist being part of a select percentage.

As he stepped outside, he barely noticed Nobita lean out of the car window and beat the steering wheel with his fists. The horn blared. As if he were being escorted in a sleek limousine, Suneo skimmed by Nobita without even bristling and scooted into the passenger seat. Infuriated that his ranting had no effect, Nobita slouched and gave the steering wheel one final punch. Suneo sat prim and straight and almost smug. The general effect, however, was spoiled both by the obvious red of his lips and the wild mess of his hair.

Gian coughed to mask a laugh and opened the door to cram into the back seat. He watched Suneo through the rearview mirror and caught his gaze. Suneo made a wretched face and looked away to fix his attention on some spot of indiscernible origin on the window.

Yes, Gian decided. He settled comfortably in his seat. He always did enjoy being part of a select few.


End file.
